


Teeth, Ink, Scars

by Purplechimera



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Dementors, M/M, Tattoos, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 22:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purplechimera/pseuds/Purplechimera
Summary: Sometimes love reaches across time and distance.





	Teeth, Ink, Scars

**May 1978**

 

When Remus awoke the morning after the full moon, it was to the newly familiar sensation of Sirius pressed against his back, nuzzling into his neck. 

 

“Hey,” Sirius murmured, running a soothing hand down Remus’ arm. “Do you hurt, anywhere?”

 

“Mm, I don’t think so.” Remus tilted his head, giving Sirius access to his favorite spot to nibble-the top of Remus’ right shoulder. He growled, deep in his throat, and felt Sirius smile against his skin.

 

“Good.”

 

And then Remus was completely surrounded, brought back to humanity by the taste and smell and sensation of  _ Sirius _ .

 

**August 1984**

 

Remus pushed open the door to a muggle tattoo shop. After nearly three years, he’d reached the only logical conclusion-if he got a tattoo there, he could tell people to avoid touching it. It seemed that no matter what he did, no matter what he said, everyone had an instinct to touch his right shoulder. A man in the street, trying to get his attention when he’d dropped something. The woman pushing past to get a closer look at the destroyed bridge. The only other lover he’d ever taken on, whom he’d left in a panic because every touch, every kiss, every bite brought him back to the Shack, to Sirius. Remus was certain that each time he lost a piece of the humanity that Sirius had given back to him that year.

 

He explained what he wanted to a very large, slightly confused tattoo artist, who kept saying “whatever you like, mate,” and shot looks at his assistant when Remus insisted on placing the stencil himself. 

 

As the tattoo gun whirred to life, Remus closed his eyes. The needles felt like Sirius’ teeth.

 

~~~

 

Sirius stared out his cell window at the moon, trying to calculate how many more days until he could put another mark on the wall. He could hear Bellatrix singing a few cells down, and glanced up to see his food flap swinging shut. Bellatrix singing always meant food. 

 

“Hello, dearie, have a treat! Give us something good to eat!”

 

Sirius ate as loudly as he could, trying to drown out the sound of his cousin. Then he clanged his plate against the door. Instantly, a Dementor appeared, seizing Sirius’ right shoulder through the bars, its long nails biting into his flesh. It hissed at him and wrenched his plate away, gliding back down the hall.

 

The only sound was the drip of Sirius’ blood onto the cell floor.

 

**June 1993**

 

As Minister Fudge strolled past his cell, Sirius noticed  _ The Daily Prophet _ tucked under one arm. 

 

“Sir?”

 

Fudge paused, then turned his head. His eyes widened, and Sirius tried to look as casual as possible, leaning against the bars of his cell.

 

“Are you finished with the paper? I do miss doing the crossword.”

 

Fudge blinked. “Oh. Of… of course.” He strode to Sirius’ cell and passed over the paper. Then he patted Sirius on the shoulder and wandered off, as if he were in a daze.

 

Sirius’ shoulder burned with the heat of his first human contact in nearly twelve years. He brushed his fingers across it, and the scars from the Dementor's claws pricked like needles.

 

~~~

 

Dumbledore had given Remus a nice advance with his signing paperwork; enough to rent a small flat and, after too many years, subscribe to  _ The Daily Prophet _ . 

 

Still, his first self-paid-for paper lay unopened on the rickety kitchen table as Remus sipped his tea in peaceful silence. As wonderful as it was to sleep in a proper bed, his bones still craved the outdoors, and his window was only shut if it was storming. The cool breeze chilled the back of his hand while his mug warmed his palm. He idly jotted down lesson plans.

 

By the time he had run out of ideas, it was well into the morning. He finally unfolded the paper, smiling sadly down at the photo of the Weasleys. The caption informed him that five of these children would be his students in September.

 

Suddenly, Remus was flooded with panic. These were his  _ students _ ? He was supposed to  _ teach them how to defend themselves? _ What the hell had he been thinking, accepting this job?

 

Just as his panic piqued, he felt a gentle, reassuring pressure on his right shoulder. Remus instinctively pressed his fingers against the skin, as though he would be able to feel the phantom hand with his own. It was probably stupid, taking comfort in what was surely his imagination, but it felt so  _ real _ , so  _ comforting _ , that he couldn’t help it.

 

“I can do this,” he announced to his empty flat. “I can teach these kids, and I  _ will. _ ”

  
  


**October 1993**

 

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was finally starting to feel like Remus’ own space, and not some bizarre dream. He waved his wand, rearranging the desks so his 6th years could practice their dueling next week.  _ Just a bit more preparation, _ he told himself.  _ Then I’ll go down to the Halloween Feast _ . 

 

The last desks settled into place, and Remus turned to move his grindylow tank just as an altogether foreign and familiar sensation washed over his shoulder. He whirled around, clamping down on the moan in his throat. No one was there. 

 

Very cautiously, Remus lifted his hand, his fingertips brushing over his tattoo. He must be more tired than he’d thought-he could have  _ sworn _ he felt Sirius right behind him again. But it was nothing. Just too much reading the news and having betrayal splashed across the front pages of  _ The Daily Prophet _ . 

 

~~~

 

As Padfoot made his way through the Forbidden Forest, his eyes raked for familiar landmarks. Somehow, the Forest had not changed as much in fifteen years as he’d expected, and his paws still knew the way back to the castle. 

 

A howl echoed, and Padfoot automatically glanced at the moon-it was only half full. His right shoulder slammed into a sapling, and he whimpered, wrenching his eyes from the moon and back toward the faint glow of Hogwarts.

  
  


**June 1996**

 

The tiny cottage was filled with unspoken words. Remus sat curled up on one end of the ragged sofa, staring down into the mug clutched in his hands. Sirius, now used to squeezing through tight spaces, tried to bury himself in the space between the cushions on his end.

 

Sirius suddenly leapt to his feet. “This was a bad idea. I’ll tell Dumbledore-”

 

“Wait!” Remus’ mug went flying across the room as he stood, desperate to stop Sirius from leaving. “I…” His hand fell, and he fidgeted with the cuffs of his jumper. The neckline, stretched wide from years of nervous pulling, slipped off his shoulder.

 

Sirius turned, and his eyes immediately locked on Remus’ tattoo. “You…” He reached up, touching his own shoulder where the Dementor had scarred him all those years ago. Remus gasped, feeling that all too familiar sensation of ethereal presence. 

 

Without thinking, Sirius crossed, his mouth pressing against the ink as his arms encircled Remus. His teeth fit the ink perfectly.


End file.
